Sunday, December 27, 2009

Zachari James Popour - Two Poems

I can only Imagine

I can only imagine is a phrase
made popular by the same cowardice’s that favor
pseudonyms and text messaging
you say it as a retort in casual conversation
when the grip of the prehensile gung-ho has fallen
as slack as the waistband in a worn out pair of sweatpants
by the time you’ve read this
you will have reflected on all the times you’ve said it
I can only imagine
I can only imagine what it could have been like
I can only imagine how you could have felt
I can only imagine
why I didn’t
maybe it was that article about deception
and how you can tell whether or not
someone is being honest by the positioning of their eyes
(supposedly, when you ask someone a question
and the eyes dart up and to the left
it means that they’re lying)
I can only imagine
why I won’t
maybe it’s the strain of predicaments as unrelenting as a tire fire
or the spill you took after asking the embodiment of liberation
if this will ever pass
and having it answer back, “of course.”
with its eyes pointed up
and to the left

When Sleep just isn’t an Option

I fished a penny from my pocket and dropped it in the urinal
my wish shone gold as a hockshop wedding band
all ignorance and dead end anticipation
staring back at me
from atop a half dissolved sanitary cake
this is the result of the offspring of desperation and superstition
drinking too much Dr. Pepper
at a midnight showing of John Carpenter’s ‘Halloween’
the hall is as vacant as you’d expect it to be
a half hour into a film
with the exception of some guy returning from the concession
a fresh bucket of popcorn in tow
this is a throwback to the hunter gatherer role
an indecisive date’s out of the blue forearm stroking request
and one of the last palpable acts of chivalry
we bump shoulders
as we both try to reenter the viewing room
and popcorn guy spurts off at the mouth with some shit like,
“why don’t you watch where the fuck you’re going?”
this sort of question doesn’t necessarily warrant an answer
it’s more statement than suggestion
“Sorry,” I say
this sort of reply is the go to reaction
of someone who got caught sleeping with their own lethargy
I hold the door open
and watch the sparse crowd giggling at Jamie Lee Curtis
as she breaks into a coughing fit after taking a hit from a joint
silhouetted in the door frame by the hall lights
just hanging there like 200 pounds of cobwebs
“SHUT THE DOOR!,” someone yells
I turn around and make my way to the exit
thinking that wishes are for birthday cakes
and kids that don’t know any better

Zachari James Popour is a lifelong resident of Huron County, Michigan. He is 24 years old and has had poems published in Kill Poet, 3 AM Magazine, Ted Ate America, The Balloone, and Lines Written with a Razor.

No comments:

Post a Comment